Marlboro's and Penny Loafers
by theSoundofLiterature
Summary: Quinn is a secret Greaser, Rachel is her neighbor. Set in 1950's. FABERRY WEEK! theme: 1950's


**A/N: Hey everybody, this is my entry for the Faberry Week prompt list. Today the theme is 1950's, I hope this fits the mold. Tell me what you think. I kind of like the idea of Greaser!Quinn.**

Marlboro's and Penny Loafers

1950's Faberry Week Prompt.

The dice are cool in her outstretched hand and she shakes them vigorously against her closed palm. Letting the luck build and build until a jerk of her wrist sends them flying out across the hot pavement. One of them rolls and lands on a six, the other gets caught and wedges deep down in between a crack in the sidewalk – there's no hope for lost die.

"Damn it Quinn!"

"What, you act like it's my fault Ricky, get off my shit."

"If you weren't so fly Quinn, I would kick you out of this gang for pulling crap like that."

Quinn sneers before popping the collar of her jean jacket one more time. Her cheeks are smeared with oil from Ricky's car. Johnny and Popcorn are standing against a wall with a pack of Camel's each as they laugh at the blonde's bad misfortune. Ricky scowls, a toothpick hanging precariously from his lips as he runs a tongue along them. He's tan, tall, and has the most gorgeous eyes any girl has ever seen – If only Quinn was in to that sort of thing – too bad she isn't.

"I gotta get outta here anyways, fellas. My pops is gonna have a coronary if I don't get home before the streetlights."

They all nod at the blonde and watch as she stands up from her position crouched on the ground. Her jeans are cuffed and her PC Flyers are scuffed and beat from the pavement. The white t-shirt she's wearing is stained with oil just like the rest of her, and her bandana hangs precariously from a torn back pocket. She passes as one of them easily – too easily one might say – if it weren't for the ponytail one just might be fooled.

"Take it easy Q."

"Yea, catch you later Fly."

Ricky doesn't say goodbye, he simply turns around and heads for his Plymouth, making sure to turn up the radio as loud as it'll go – drowning Quinn and the rest of them out. He'll get over it, Quinn thinks. She smirks as she grabs her bike. The gravel sneaking out behind her as she makes her smooth departure; a Marlboro perched between her beautiful lips as she smirks into the sunset.

It's 5:45 when she finally makes it home. She sneaks into the backyard and drops her bike unceremoniously into the grass. Her clothes are stashed behind the Cedar tree, and she makes her way behind it, sneaking glances into the lit foyer through the curtains. Her pants come off first, then her shirt and jacket. She snubs the cig out against the bark and stashes it in a squirrel hole. The yellow flowered dress she left the house in this morning rests at her feet and she takes one look at it and grimaces. Apparently sacrifices must be made if you're a Fabray. She pulls it over her head, followed by her flats, and hairband. The hair tie is pulled from her blonde tresses as she runs trembling fingers through her golden locks.

She uses the bandana to wipe the smudges off of her face and hands, and then she finalizes it all with a spritz of perfume out of her back pocket – desperate times, it seems. And now it's 5:52 as she makes her way up to the back door, and quietly through kitchen – she prays she won't get caught this time.

"Quinn."

A quick turn and there's her father, Russell Fabray. A brandy in one hand and a cigar in the other. He doesn't look at her, no – but if anything that's even worse.

"Daddy."

"You're late."

"I know, I'm terribly sorry, I got held up at the Hudson's – Ms. Hudson needed some help finishing tapestries for the Christmas play at the church."

Russell grunts in reply – pleased in his inebriated state it seems with his daughter's less than truthful answer.

"Well then…dinner's in a few minutes, go get cleaned up."

Quinn nods quickly before hurrying up the stairs and letting out the breath she never realized she was holding. She takes out the spare pack of Marlboro Red's that she saved underneath the faulty floorboard beneath her bed, and lights one up by her window. Instantly relaxing as she lets the smoke release through the screen. She scans the houses around her own and finds her gaze settling on familiar yellow curtains. The house is quaint, and smaller then her own, but she smiles whenever she passes it – and every night she waits for the pretty brunette to sing through the window – and right on time there she is. And Quinn sighs.

She watches as the small brunette sings and dances around her room to an unfamiliar tune –her voice like smooth honey on a warm day. And before Quinn can completely lose herself, Francesca is barging through her door and yelling at her.

"Shit Quinn, honestly if mommy or daddy found out about your little _habit_, you're dead."

The younger blonde sneers – painfully unaware of which habit her sister is speaking of; the smoking, the gang, or the predilection for swooning over unsuspecting short, beautiful brunettes.

"Fuck off Frannie."

"Oh your language is wonderful Quinn – you hang around those boys too much. They're a bad influence on you. Don't think I or my friends haven't seen you vandalizing mailboxes and walls all across Lima in those…_clothes_. Honestly, it embarrasses me to call you my sister, must you insist on looking and acting like a boy? You'll never get a boyfriend that way Quinnie, I'm just trying to help you out."

"Leave me alone."

"And when did you come off being so rude? Didn't you learn to respect your elders? Anyway, mom just wanted me to let you know that dinner's ready, and she's expecting you washed up and ready in the next few minutes."

"Fine…whatever."

And with that the blonde grit her teeth and snubbed out the cigarette, all sense of relaxation gone when she glances back out of the window to find the singing brunette gone, and her curtains unceremoniously closed. Quinn sighs before changing into a clean dress for dinner before hurrying to the bathroom to wash her hands and face. She hated her family – god did she hate them.

The good thing about summer in Lima, Ohio is that it's such a small town that when people are too busy going to church or social events they seem to dust the other things completely under the rug. And Quinn could appreciate that. She could let loose with her buddies without anyone really caring or noticing, just as long as she didn't cause trouble. By the next afternoon, she found herself, Ricky, Johhny, Popcorn, and their other buddy Lyle out by the new McElroy strip mall hanging out by Ricky's Plymouth in the parking lot.

Every half an hour or so a group of the high school girls from McKinley would stop by and stare at Ricky's car and beg for his attention. Quinn would laugh before cranking up the radio to tune them all out. She was sitting against the car, playing with her lighter, cigarette perched between her perfect lips when she noticed small penny loafer covered feet overtaking her field of vision.

"Hey, get movin' loser. You're in my sun."

"That's definitely no way to greet someone, Quinn? Is that it?"

The blonde looked up, and lost her grasp on her speech, because standing right in front of her was the pretty brunette from across the street. Her poodle skirt was a little older in fashion and her sweater was older wool, but she managed to pull it off somewhat. The small beret sat adorned over her brown curls, and if anything Quinn couldn't help her drooling.

"I asked you a question Quinn. My gosh, you know those things are terrible for you don't you? My daddy is a doctor, and he's told me all about the new warnings that are coming out from the Surgeon General in the next few years. Apparently they can actually cause _cancer_. I know, I know. That's practically unheard of, but I've done my research and I believe it. And so, its been my personal mission all summer to rid the world of tobacco and it's perverse effects on our society as a whole."

"Huh…what?"

"Are you always this daft?"

The blonde swallowed and finally seemed to be able to get a grasp on her bearings; she hadn't even felt the brunette tear the cigarette from her lips in her rant. And now she frowned at the loss – because seeing how things were turning out, she would need another one sooner rather than later.

"W- Who are you?"

"Why, I'm Rachel Berry. And you're Quinn Fabray – although many people probably don't recognize you with the greaser get up and all – you're more accustomed to baby doll dresses and poodle skirts in school it seems. We've had at least one class together since we both started at McKinley. You obviously lack observational skills it seems."

"You're my neighbor."

"T-That I am."

And then Quinn was running a shaky hand through her messy ponytail, smearing gravel across her cheek in the process. She was wearing a leather jacket today and Dickies, her PC Flyers still a little worse for wear adorning her feet. A pair of brass knuckles hanging precariously from a chain around her slender neck, directly above her gold cross.

"Do you want to sit…I don't bite. And you snubbed my cig, so you won't have to worry about tobacco and cancer and shit."

The brunette chuckled shyly before glancing around the parking lot. They were leaning against the far side of Ricky's Plymouth and were out of eyeshot from the rest of Quinn's friends, or the groups of swooning girls fawning over Ricky and his car – but mostly Ricky.

"I-I guess it couldn't hurt."

Quinn smiled – she didn't know why, but for some reason the thought of sharing a space with this mysterious girl Rachel Berry intrigued her. She shuffled out of her jacket quickly and laid it lightly against the asphalt for Rachel to sit down on, the brunette had the gall to blush at the action.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"Hey, I'm sorry for being rude to you – you kinda snuck up on me, and I wasn't expecting it."

"No, no it's completely alright, that's kind of exactly why I stopped by to say hello – you seemed completely enthralled by your thoughts, and it intrigued me. And I recognized you from class, and from across the street, and so in lieu of trying new things and meeting new people, I thought I'd say hello."

"Wow, you talk a lot. Anybody ever tell you that?"

"Well…I don't have many friends….so no, they do not."

"Oh…"

"It's okay, I mean…"

"Well, you have a beautiful voice. I hear you sing every night from across the street, and it's amazing. I just thought you should know."

"Thank you Quinn."

The blonde nodded, her lip creased up in a slight smile – her hands intertwined above her knees, and her cheeks rosy from an unceremonious blush. Unbeknownst to her Rachel sat next to her with a swooning heart. Her own cheeks blushing, and her fingers fidgeting in an errant strand from her wool sweater.

"Hey, Q!"

The blonde turned at the call, Ricky was ambling around the side of the Plymouth, lighting a cigarette as he called her name.

"Ay, what you want Ricky?"

"We're busting out o' here. It's lame, y'know. Some of the guys wanna grab some food over at Mickey's."

"Okay, give me a minute alright."

Quinn turned to Rachel, the brunette was oddly amused by the conversation just now and the blonde smiled brightly at her, her hazel eyes reflected in the sunlight.

"Hey, Rachel – looks like I've gotta go, but you're welcome to come if you like. It'll just be me and the guys, but it could be fun…"

Rachel blushed at the invitation before standing up slowly, and wiping at her stockings and skirt. Quinn followed her up quickly and they stood standing together awkwardly while both waited for the other to speak.

"I actually have to get home, I have a dance lesson – but, we're neighbors. Maybe we can actually hang out sometime this summer?"

"That sounds good."

Rachel beamed at the agreement and Quinn laughed, before running a hand through her hair again. She picked up her jacket off of the ground and shook it out before pulling it gracefully over her shoulders.

"Hey, Rachel I gotta go, but I'll see you around?"

The brunette nodded shyly and smiled politely while Quinn nodded in return. The blonde smacked Popcorn against the head for fun, before hurrying over to the passenger side of the Plymouth as the radio blared around them. Rachel watched the gang of greasers fool around and get in the car from her position a few feet away, and as the car pulled out of the hot parking lot, she couldn't help but stare at the reflection of the beautiful blonde through the rearview mirror – and as Quinn sped away, her head bopping to the rhythm of the music, her hazel eyes caught a pair of gorgeous chocolate in the mirror, and she smiled before changing the station to a cacophony of swearing and yelling. Perhaps it would be a good summer after all.


End file.
